


the fallen king.

by d_e_s



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Nightmares, basically just nightmares and fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_e_s/pseuds/d_e_s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in his dreams, he was a king.</p>
<p>                                             (bold, fearless, and utterly arrogant)</p>
<p>when he wakes though, he’s a coward.</p>
<p>                                             (shaking, trembling, and oh so afraid)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the fallen king.

This was his kingdom; this was where he ruled. All around him, he could hear the echo of rubber-soled shoes squeaking against hard wood floors, the shouts and grunts as people called for and received the ball, mixing together in a melody that couldn’t simply be described with words. It was a melody that he had been listening to for as long as he could remember, a melody he thrived in—a melody he controlled. The melody would be nothing without him, and the power was intoxicating. Attention drifting out to the court, arrogance was quick to settle over the raven’s shoulders, embracing him much like a cloak. This competition would be just like the others; he would stand victor, just as he always did. Defeat was not a word in the King’s vocabulary, it was a concept he simply couldn’t grasp when it came to himself. Because, in this division, he was the best. Head and shoulders above the rest, and going places they couldn’t even dream of—looking down from the top had never been so liberating. All he needed was them to show a scrap of competence, and he’d get them through this game, just as he had with all the others.  


There would be no victory this time, though. The iron wall was too high, and the spiker was too slow to hit the tosses with the necessary speed to get around the wall. The arrogance that had previously cloaked the raven was long gone, desperation (he cannot lose because everyone else can’t keep up, not after coming so far) quickly replacing it, suffocating him. The sounds that had once comforted him were now deafening, each noise underlined by the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears; all at once, he was no longer in control. Yet, he refused to give up—it wasn’t over until the whistle blew, until the ball hit the court. As long as he could still toss, as long as he still had the ability to control the game, he would still be able to fight—  


—and suddenly, a sound broke through the previously deafening noise: the simple smack of a volleyball hitting hard wooden floors.  
The funny thing about kings is that, without followers, they’re nothing. And in that moment, a decision had been made: he would be followed no more. He had been rejected, he had lost. He hadn’t lost just the game, though.  
In an instant, he was alone.

 

No matter how many times he had that nightmare, he always reacted the same way. A sharp gasp was quick to leave slightly parted, chapped lips as he abruptly jolted into an upright position, the slim fingers of fear quickly wrapping around his neck, attempting to suffocate him. For a moment, it was as though he couldn’t breathe, each desperate gasp ragged and shuddery, and the only sound he could make out was the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears. He couldn’t do this here, though. He couldn’t freak out when so many people were around, he couldn’t let them see how pathetic he truly was, allowing something that had happened so long ago to affect him so strongly. He was supposed to be the control tower, he was supposed to be strong.  


He wasn’t strong, though. He was pathetic, allowing this dream to continuously haunt him. Allowing this dream to bother him so much. A lot had changed since back then—he had changed—and he trusted his team to support him, just as they trusted him to support them. He had absolutely no reason to be having these dreams, yet here he was, the slim fingers of fear tightening around him much like a noose, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a mile at a dead sprint. Frustration—something less subtle than his fear, something hot and bitter instead of cold and suffocating—was quick to build within the raven, his breathing ragged for a reason completely different from—  


—and suddenly, he was hit in the face with a pillow. For a brief moment, sharp surprise cut though the previous cocktail of emotion which had been polluting Kageyama’s mind, his cobalt hues widening in blatant surprise. Slowly, he reached out, picking up the object that had managed to hit him square in the face, staring at the absurdly patterned pillowcase with a sense of disbelief. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was surprised by the fact that it was Hinata’s pillow; the ginger was always finding something to hit him in the head with. Ever so slowly, Kageyama turned to face his attacker, surprise still obvious on his face, and for a moment, he chose to simply stare at the other.  


“Kageyama, there was—uhm—I—” If he had to pick the fastest way (read: the most terrifying way) to wake up in the morning, this would probably be Hinata’s number one choice. Though, any variation of hitting Kageyama in the head would work. Stumbling over his words (it’d suddenly gotten uncomfortably hot in the room, had his heart always beat this fast?), Hinata found himself desperate for some sort of excuse as to why he had thrown his pillow at the raven. Anything other than the truth—he’d noticed how pale Kageyama had been when he’d woken up, how ragged his breathing had been, and that had been the only way he could think of to immediately distract him—would work. And yet, here he was, unable to come up with anything because it was so scary when Kageyama was silent.  


“—You had a bug on your face,” Hinata finished lamely, fingers tapping together as he gave a rather awkward laugh, eyes wide as he stared at the (still silent) Kageyama.  


For a moment, Kageyama could do little more than stare at the (oddly nervous) ginger in front of him, fingers digging into the spongy material of the pillow in his hands. It didn’t take a genius to realize that there had been no bug on his face, and that his breathing had probably woken up the other. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Hinata had realized what was going on, and acted out of instinct. Attention slowly drifting down to the pillow, Kageyama simply stared at the stupid pillowcase, eyes finally narrowing, the surprise finally disappearing from his features.  


“We’re _inside_ , idiot” Kageyama uttered, though his words lacked any true bite. Before Hinata could come up with some sort of stupid retort to his lame comment, Kageyama flung the pillow back at the ginger, satisfaction curling deep within him as he made a direct hit, a smirk briefly painting his expression. “There are no bugs inside. You were probably dreaming it.” Shifting, Kageyama reached out and grabbed the ginger by the front of his shirt, tugging him into a rough kiss, ignoring the surprised squeak that came from the other. Vaguely, he was aware of strong arms wrapping around him, of the warmth that came with being embraced. It was a warmth he craved, a warmth he desperately needed—and the fact he was being kissed back was just an added bonus.  


There was no denying the fact that he would likely always suffer some sort of anxiety over being abandoned again, no matter how much he changed, no matter how much he trusted his team. As long as Hinata was around, though, he would be okay.  


Because as long as they were together, they were invincible.


End file.
